(An event in the Midland civil war)
This then, was their first invaluable part in this venture
and Cydwas moved to the head of the stairs and gave out a low whistle. Soft
footsteps could be heard running up to join them and soon the landing was
filling with familiar warriors. The door to the guard room was kicked open so
the rebels could pour in and following a few moments of hair-raising but
curtailed screaming, silence returned to this corner of CaerCorion and the
Tower of Bran in particular. As the Custodians were slaughtered in their beds,
Eidyn and Cydwas charged through the door and up the outer spiral staircase
leading to the very top of this enormous tower and came eventually to another
larger oak door to the roof. It had no lock, just a large iron ring attached to
a drop latch and so with a twist and a hearty shove, they were in the cold
still air of this historic night again, under a billion stars and standing on
the highest point across all these lands.
The view of the starlit land around them was breath-taking,
as neither had been up to this legendary tower before, nor had they ever stood
at this dizzying height on any man-made structure. It made them nervous, as the
tower seemed to sway under them, but it was only a sensation and the two
wide-eyed men looked at the massive horn assembly below the battlements, built
solid and square at the far side of this roof and they moved quickly to it. This
massively square tower had thicker walls to support the monument at its crown,
whose fluted mouth protruded into the night sky high above the flat plain below,
as if a vast black daffodil was growing out from the roof. The Horn of Bran was a monstrous black and tapering cone of wrought iron, with a fluted, gaping maw
which could swallow a whole cow. It was easily thirty feet in length, curving
up and outwards over the embrasure and from its massive stone base and footing.
This ancient stone base had been carved and sculpted long ages ago and its
weathered planes were soft now with that same great age, but it was an
impressive structure. It was difficult for either man to imagine the challenges
which the old builders who had mounted it here had faced.
A life-sized, horned head of Cornonnyn had been sculpted out
of the facing stone in deep relief and the God’s hollow mouth was agape in
readiness for his offering. Below the chilling visage of the terrible
horned-one were a number of worn granite blocks, protruding from their niches
in a row of five, each with an ancient symbol carved upon its face. This then
was the puzzle these men were to solve before they could make the sacred incantations
and so they both crouched before the terrifying face on the stone plinth and
eyed the five symbols below it seriously, considering well their next moves as
they had one attempt only. If they got the sequence wrong, there was no second
chance and they along with their men on the next landing protecting them would
have wasted their time and their lives, as they won’t be able to activate the
horn to call-out the Corionototau and all will be lost.
The worn-out symbols on these stones were just legible and
the first was the flowing design of a horse and the next an equally stylised
but unmistakeable figure of a long-horned bull. The third stone displayed the
cunning outline of a wolf on its pitted face, whilst the next showed the form
of a sacred hare and the last protruding stone, bore a carving of a proud king-stag
on its weathered face. These crude but iconic symbols meant many things to many
people, tapping into the deepest parts of their cultural upbringing. They had
to be depressed into their supporting stone base in order of importance and so
the choice was a complex one to any uninformed operator. There was only one
correct sequence and only one opportunity to get it right however and so Eidyn’s
palms were sweating as he reached nervously for the Bull stone.
“Are you sure the bull is the first?” His ever-doubtful
partner queried with wide eyes, just as he was about to press the stone forward
and his hand froze. Eidyn shook his head and glowered at Cydwas.
“Cnuch me Cydwas it’s always the same with you, have a little
faith!” He growled at his partner, but he was frowning now as he frantically
recounted Lludd Llaw Ereint’s serious instructions, not sure himself anymore
and he cursed Cydwas’ uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the Bull
stone and with a grinding sound, it slid roughly into the hole. Eidyn pushed
the Horse, then the Stag and the Wolf, followed lastly by the Druid’s sacred Hare
and it too slid fully home. Now it was the ‘incantations and the blood’ as all
things Brythonic come in threes and so Cydwas fell to his knees before Arglwydd
Cornonnyn, closed his eyes to remember the rhyme and began to recite the
ancient words, as with stark eyes Eidyn drew his dagger above him.
Shouting could now be heard from all the levels below and it
seemed that finally their subterfuge had ended. Abruptly there were alarm calls
ringing out throughout this Caer, chilling the two valiant men atop its highest
tower to the core. Frantic blasts on a horn came from far below them and dozens
of heavy warboots could be heard pounding up the timber staircase now and their
men below were thrust into frantic defensive action. The clashing of steel
galvanised these two men and with their hearts racing they continued with the
procedure, but their fingers were trembling now, as the fear of being cornered
here with no escape gripped them both.
At the correct moment in Cydwas’ breathless monotone and with
a slight wince, Eidyn drew the blade across the palm of his left hand and cut
it deeply, quickly re-sheathing his blade as the blood puddled in his cupped
hand. As Cydwas finished the sacred entreaty to the Horned-One who guards this
edifice, Eidyn poured his hot blood into the God’s open mouth of stone and it
vanished down Cornonnyn’s dry granite throat without a sound.
The deed was done, the triad complete and the sequence finished,
and now both stood gawping, frantically waiting for something to happen as the
crashing of arms and the clamour in this fortress swelled alarmingly. The
sounds of fighting men seemed to be approaching this tower with a dread
inexorability, but still nothing happened. Looking at each other in horror, it
became clear that nothing was going to happen.
“My Gods Eidyn, we’re doomed!” Cydwas moaned, the tragedy
clear on his pale face but his comrade was not so fatalistic, grabbing him by
the arms and shaking him roughly.
“Get a grip Cydwas we’re not finished yet, come on man think!
I know we got the sequence right but why doesn’t the mechanism work?” Eidyn
challenged him hoarsely, as swords clashed and men screamed terribly just below them. The
panic building in them both was a terrible thing and it took all their resolve
to quash it. Eidyn broke from his immobilised partner, drew his sword with a
curse and attempted to prise the two stone plinths apart with the tip but
couldn’t even penetrate the tight gap in the centre.
“Lubrication?” Cydwas muttered, looking fearfully at the door
behind them.
“What about lubrication!” Eidyn snapped, bringing his
partner’s head and his attention back to him and the job in hand.
“Eh, the blood I mean, it must be to lubricate something
inside to let it move? I don’t know I’m only guessing.” Cydwas grumbled, not
able to stop himself glancing at the door behind them again and Eidyn jumped,
re-sheathing his sword quickly.
His hand still bled although the flow had eased, but with
some vigorous manipulation he reopened the congealing wound and the red liquid flowed
once more. Eidyn let it trickle into the stone mouth of the carving and from a
sudden afterthought, took the skin from his belt, pulled the cork with his
teeth and poured all this fiery spirit down Cornonnyn’s throat too. As the
whisky gurgled down the granite gullet, he sent it with a fleeting but earnest prayer,
as the panic welled up savagely inside him. The sounds of fighting and
screaming were closer now and approaching that door, which was their only remaining
protection.
Still nothing happened, and their panic crawled up their
throats now and Eidyn could feel the scream of frustration about to burst from
him. He kicked the stone housing in his rising frustration and anger but all he
achieved was a pain in his foot. As the clamour of their death encroached
unseen up the stairs behind them, their breathing became laboured. Despite the biting
cold, both men began to sweat freely and standing shoulder to shoulder now, they
held-up their swords and together Eidyn and Cydwas Llwyd turned to face their doom.
Even as the landing below was designed for defence and their
comrades had made the utmost from its advantage, they were obviously
hard-pressed from the clamouring guards of this fortress. CaerCorion’s soldiers
massively outnumbered their combrogi and
whilst the twisted approach to the landing below restricted the attackers to
two men at a time, they had a constant flow of fresh replacements and could not
be held back indefinitely. It hadn’t taken a genius in this fortress to figure
out what was going on, as rumours of the rebellion had been rife across the
region and they could both hear the furious action on the other side of the
door now. Gripping their swords hard in fearful anticipation, their eyes were glued
now to the heavy oak door, which by the sounds beyond it was now surrounded and
embattled. Bodies began to thump against the weather-aged oaken planks, causing
them to shiver as their newly familiar comrades died to bar access to it.
Unseen to them, the brave warriors of Breged were courageously
giving Eidyn and Cydwas these precious but entirely superfluous seconds, and they
looked at each other now in abject horror, the calamity crashing in on them and
weakening their knees. It was not just their own imminent deaths and abject
failure, but all that had been risked by so many and for naught it now seemed. Their
courage remained however and gave strength to their knees, both hefting their
swords once more to stand tall, side by side under the stars of their fate.
These two old and trusted friends stood together to face the entrance to this
roof with grim fatalistic expressions, and their hearts were hammering in a
syncopated, galloping rhythm.
It was obvious the other side of that timber bastion before
them was witnessing the most furious action and they looked at each other again,
the stark knowledge of their failure mirrored on each other’s pale and tragic faces.
With the Horn of Bran fatally mute behind them and the rebellion dying in the
womb, Eidyn nodded to Cydwas with his eyes glittering. With his lips
compressed, Cydwas returned the nod grimly as there was nothing left to say.
As they prepared themselves to meet whatever was about to
come crashing through that battered door, a feint groaning, grinding sound came
from behind them and their eyes met again, this time with a question. As they
turned as one in surprise, the rumbling quern-like noise got louder, and a
sandy dust began to puff and fall from the crevices of the stone-built plinth.
To their utter disbelief, the stones began to move apart and open. Grinding and
dragging across the stone plinth and pivoting in two curling arcs, the stone
faces drew apart. The sounds of their imminent discovery faded, as the two men
stared agape at the opening which left two wet and curving score marks on the
stone beneath. It smelled oddly of wirod-mywyd
but there before them was revealed; the inner workings of the sacred and
ancient Horn of Bran.
A large and perfectly round boulder was exposed within,
mounted on a dished pillar of bronze and this monstrously heavy stone was as round
as a cartwheel and almost as big. It was obvious in a flash that this massive
stone had to be lifted from its pillar and placed in the bronze, cup-shaped
receptacle on the lid of the great box below it. Cydwas had seen the great
warriors of the northern highlands lift these round boulders they called
‘stones of destiny’ for sport and he knew what was required of him. Only one
man could fit into the stony embrace of the opening at once and it was thus
designed to be a test of individual strength, as well as a spiritual and
intellectual challenge. Cydwas was a muscular man and regardless of his
premature greying, he was known for his unnatural strength and without a
moment’s hesitation he bent to the task with his heart racing, as it was the
biggest lifting stone he had ever seen.
Spitting on his palms he gripped the great stone ball and
tested it, feeling the horrifying sense of resolute permanence in its grip of
years on the pillar under it. Cydwas strained against this seal, as the
crashing on the door behind him increased and Eidyn went to stand behind him,
with his sword and dagger drawn as a forlorn protector. Cydwas’ forearms bulged
as he took the strain again, but the stone didn’t budge. He was appalled at its
immovable weight, but he was just warming up his great muscles. Gripping the
rough granite surface of the ball with his spread fingers again, Cydwas’ face
filled with the blood of his effort and he grunted as his great shoulders
bulged once more.
“Come on Cydwas, put your cnuching back into it!” Eidyn
growled behind him but Cydwas ignored him and moved his feet apart, gathering
himself, whilst still compressed into this uncomfortable crouch. He took a
series of deep breaths to charge his wind and then he lifted properly. The
stone’s grip on its plinth faltered and it shifted in its cup, giving Cydwas encouragement
and he lifted with all his might, his teeth grinding loudly with the effort. Sweat
popped out all along his forehead and his arms shook uncontrollably from the
colossal weight of this boulder, but there was no quit in this impressive Gŵyr.
His backside dipped as he put every ounce of strength into it and the stone
lifted slightly and with another guttural grunt, Cydwas lifted it clear of its
ancient resting place. His whole body now vibrated with the immense effort and
with his eyes bulging, Cydwas managed to lower the stone of his own destiny.
Shaking like a man with the ague,
Cydwas carefully allowed the stone to drop into the bronze cup below the
plinth, fixed as it was to the lid of the huge bellows box under it and
infinitely slowly, it began to sink.
Overpowering Cydwas’ ragged panting and the rising clamour
from behind the roof door, a loud hissing erupted from the open stone cyst and
the massive set of bellows housed in the chamber below, as the weight of the
huge boulder depressed the lid. Suddenly, a loud and booming note came bellowing
from the mouth of the monstrous horn above them and Eidyn dropped his sword
with a clatter. He and Cydwas had to clap their hands over their ears from the
pain it was so impossibly loud, as the Horn of Bran vibrated the very air
around this tower and they could feel it making their whole bodies tremble with
its unholy and deafening blare. They reeled around this tower roof, heads in
their hands and yelling with the agony, as the horn tore the world apart around
them, shaking the very stars above in their firmament. Even the tower itself
was trembling from the awesome blast of Bran’s War-Horn, shaking the dust from every
crevice and even the fighting on the stairs had been stunned into inactivity by
its rude and thunderous blast. The Horn of Bran called out across all Coritana
and although its deep bass lowing hadn’t been heard for many generations, every
soul knew instantly what that fell,
dread sound conveyed and what had caused it. This day of glorious revolution in tyrannical Coritana,
the Horn of Bran just had to reach the surrounding towns and villages of the
Corionototau; ‘The People’s Militia’, who were eagerly awaiting its unique
clarion call. The moment the deep and ominous lowing reached them making the
earth under their feet tremble, they exploded into synchronous action.
The Corionototau will only ever go to battle if the Horn of
Bran is blown, which sits captive and forbidden since King Afyn’s coronation atop
CaerCorion, now his and the Coritana’s vassal fortress. This ancient stronghold
was the Corieltaufi’s Capital Caer in the past, which was always called CaerEltaforde
in their history and it will be so again if these two recklessly committed
individuals complete their improbable mission. It will provide an important guarded
settlement for the tribe should the rebellion succeed and as it reassembles in
the coming year. However, the tyrant Afyn rules his Coritana from CaerLindon
and it is that daunting fortress which the people’s militia must first vanquish,
before CaerCorion can once again become the glorious citadel of the
Corieltaufi.
King Afyn’s troops who were stationed throughout these towns
and villages, were equally surprised at that terrifying sound which vibrated
the very earth under them, but their surprise was a fleeting thing, as each and
every one of them was dead a moment later. The Corionototau then flowed from
their fraught communities, into the broad plain of Fro Gwyn for their animated
assembly and the land came alive with the news.
Weeks later, visitors to these towns and villages would
report that the astonishing sound had been heard over seventy miles away, but
on this day the Horn of Bran’s terrible and prophetic resonance hadn’t needed
to travel far at all. Its effect had been dramatic however, as from the
assembly point and armed with the tools of their living, the Corionototau-sworn
werrin army had swept north with the ancient call of Bran vibrating all around
them. With death in their hearts and vengeance shining bright in their eyes,
the long-repressed werrin of Coritana swept forth, hazarding their lives in a
valiant, poverty-driven attempt at reclaiming everything they had ever owned
and everything they had ever been. Somehow the ancient and deeply sacred horn had
been activated atop CaerCorion and it had released them, both spiritually and
physically and with bright steel in their fists, they flowed from their
assembly point in their thousands.
Brân
Galed brin y gelwynt
Bonedd Gwŷr y Gogledd gynt
Taliesin, ddewin ddiwael
A'i troes yn well no'r Tri Hael
Bonedd Gwŷr y Gogledd gynt
Taliesin, ddewin ddiwael
A'i troes yn well no'r Tri Hael
Guto'r
Glyn
Niggardly
Bran they used to call him
Of old was descended from the Nobility of the North
Taliesin, no mean magician
Transformed him into one better than the Tri Hael.
Of old was descended from the Nobility of the North
Taliesin, no mean magician
Transformed him into one better than the Tri Hael.
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